Alexendra Leaving..

Another wonderful track from the album "Ten New Songs" from Cohen:

Suddenly the night has grown colder.
The god of love preparing to depart.
Alexandra hoisted on his shoulder,
they slip between the sentries of your heart.

Upheld by the simplicities of pleasure,
they gain the light, they formlessly entwine;
and radiant beyond your widest measure
they fall among the voices and the wine.

lt's not a trick, your senses all deceiving,
a fitful dream the morning will exhaust---
Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving,
Then say goodbye to Alexandra lost.

Even though she sleeps upon your satin.
Even though she wakes you with a kiss.
Do not say the moment was imagined,
Do not stoop to strategies like this.

As someone long prepared for this to happen,
Go firmly to the window. Drink it in.
Exquisite music, Alexandra laughing.
Your first commitments tangible again.

You who had the honor of her evening,
And by that honor had your own restored---
Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving.
Alexandra leaving with her lord.

As someone long prepared for the occasion;
In full command of every plan you wrecked---
Do not choose a coward's explanation
that hides behind the cause and the effect,

You who were bewildered by a meaning,
whose code was broken, crucifix uncrossed---
Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving.
Then say goodbye to Alexandra lost.


Hydra, Greece
September 1999

Cohen the poet

Absolutely love these words from Leonard Cohen:

If it be your will
That I speak no more
And my voice be still
As it was before
I will speak no more
I shall abide until
I am spoken for
If it be your will
If it be your will
That a voice be true
From this broken hill
I will sing to you
From this broken hill
All your praises they shall ring
If it be your will
To let me sing
From this broken hill
All your praises they shall ring
If it be your will
To let me sing

If it be your will
If there is a choice
Let the rivers fill
Let the hills rejoice
Let your mercy spill
On all these burning hearts in hell
If it be your will
To make us well

And draw us near
And bind us tight
All your children here
In their rags of light
In our rags of light
All dressed to kill
And end this night
If it be your will

If it be your will.

Home Tomorrow

Home Tomorrow

by Mark Simpson

Texture is most important, you don’t want baby’s delicate skin scratched and scraped by some cheap horse-hair rag. Quality, that’s what matters. It’s my one little luxury – clothes shopping for my daughter. Its nearly spring, so pastel colours are a must. I follow my daily ritual of laying out clean, beautiful clothes. Her room smells lovely in the mornings, and the pale sunshine dapples and plays there as I stand still, watching.

It’s Tuesday, and I’m already behind, yet endless fatigue makes even the simple things an effort. So much to do, and I’ve not even started on the backlog of mail. Can’t face that today, there are things that must be done. I stop at the top of the stairs, frozen for a moment, gripping the rail till my knuckles turn white. A random mail drop startles me. “Damn letters! Why must they keep coming?”

Coffee doesn’t soothe like the smell promised, and I brush past forgotten tasks in the kitchen. What time is it? Mummy and baby bonding time is overdue. I bundle all I need into the pristine pushchair, and make my way out, laden heavily, as all good mothers should be. It’s a cold sun that fails to warm me, and the unforgiving buggy jars my hands on the rough, abandoned streets. I buy the daily provisions, unthinking, and haphazardly arrange them in the spare seat space.

It’s a steep climb through the fresh-cut grass, and already my eyes are red and puffy. How rash the gardener is to cut so soon the short-lived stalks. Oh how I long to walk through wide fields of tall, slender grass. Grass that had a chance to reach for the sun and be all it could be.

Before long, it is time to stop and arrange things for our time together. “Nappies!” I cry, and begin a frantic search through every pocket and compartment till I find one. I laugh at myself for the few moments of hysteria I have indulged in – it is not uncommon for new mums to be like this, I tell myself.

Kneeling in the mud and stubble grass, I lay the new garments out carefully, with fresh flowers too, singing gently the lilting melodies that all good mothers should know, till a song forms inside me and I sing once again to Stephanie:

“New clothes, my sweet baby girl,

In such a place of sorrow..

And bright yellow daffodils too,

For you’ll be home tomorrow…”

I've had a little bit of a fresh start with my life after a recent illness. I wasn't at death's door or anything - but there was certainly a risk of me heading that way if I wasn't sorted quickly..

Since then, I've been a lot more forgiving about things in life - let a lot of things go - more to let go soon.

Life's really short, for all of us, and we must cherish the moments while we can.

Slow ebbs the silent day

Slow ebbs the silent day..
Loitering time
Squanders strengthened sinew,
Pillages precious memories,
Gold spilled carelessly.

Where now the sacred?
Where now hope and help?

Pray now while strength is strong!
Pray urgently, fervently,
That life ends whilst
Cherished sounds remain.

(C) Mark Simpson